


Gory Booms

by Zumberge



Category: Original Work
Genre: Belly Expansion, Blood and Gore, Demon Summoning, Gen, Hive Mind, Inflation, Masochism, Regeneration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24759964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zumberge/pseuds/Zumberge
Summary: A small stack of inflation stories with one thing in common: They're messy.
Kudos: 6





	1. Eruption

**Author's Note:**

> Female subject.

"Hey! Get back here right now!"

Doctor Chemistro, otherwise known as Nigel Simmons, was not in the best of spots. Barely twenty, he was book smart and a savant in matters of chemistry, but lacking in street smarts and not at all prone to standing up for himself. Thus, he found himself in with the wrong crowd and part of a criminal plot, being told that bank robbery was acceptable because the money was insured and thus no one would really lose money. In retrospect, it was a terrible idea.

Pursuing him across the rooftops was Regina Riley; he recognized her from articles on obscure news sites he frequented. The only power to her credit was incredible regenerative abilities, and she was bizarrely enthusiastic about what amounted to dangerous volunteer work, wearing track shoes and a sleeveless jumpsuit in situations where the police would be using riot armor. He would have said she was insane, but then again, she didn't just try to rob a bank.

Nigel hurled himself across a gap between buildings, stumbling as he landed on the other side. He sprinted for the stairwell door, skidding to a halt and hitting it roughly shoulder-first. Grasping the knob, he wrenched it in an attempt to get it open, but to no avail. He turned, only to see Regina standing a few yards away, arms akimbo.

"So," Regina said, "are you going to give up?"

He fumbled at his side, pulling a complex-looking magazine-fed dart gun out of its holster and aiming it at Regina with a shaky hand. "Don't come any closer!"

"You know, if that's poison, it's not going to work too great on me."

He pulled the trigger, and the device let out an empty click. Smiling, Regina took a step forward. In a panic he slapped the side of the gun and it sputtered, spraying its magazine into her right arm.

Regina looked down at the darts before shaking her arm, dislodging them. "Like I said, poison... isn't..." She trailed off before staring at her hand, noticing that it was looking a bit swollen. She held her arm to the side, taken aback as her fingers grew puffy and the puffiness extended up her arm, muscle definition disappearing as her arm swelled up like a sausage. "Oh. Well, that's something."

Nigel stared at her arm, wide-eyed. "I -swear- that's not supposed to happen!"

"You're not just saying that, are you?" She took a step forward; the swelling was spreading, and the wrinkles in her jumpsuit was beginning to be pulled flat by her expanding breasts.

He pressed his back up against the door, shaking his head frantically. "No, I swear! It, it was just a topical numbing agent!"

She looked down at her arms, both now thick and round. Beneath her breasts her belly was beginning to strain against the fabric. "Well, it's having an odd reaction on me. It's like my insides are bubbling." Her thighs grew wider, making her look as if she had more than doubled in weight in but a moment. "Like that time that one guy made my blood boil, only less warm."

"I... see," he said, slightly put-off.

"But I'm still going to bring you in," she said. "Even if you were trying to be non-lethal." She took a step forward, but stopped suddenly as her belly stretched her jumpsuit to its limit, gurgling and fuming loudly. She winced, holding her stomach. "Hey, this..." Her expression changed to vague surprise. "...this actually hurts a little."

As soon as the words left her lips her gut surged outward in all directions, shoving aside her arms and tearing her jumpsuit along the seams. It quickly grew in throbs in time to her heartbeat, pulsing outward before shrinking back again ever so slightly, her body taking on a rounder shape and her breasts being pulled flat across its surface.

Nigel watched in horror as his unwitting handiwork continued to take effect, the young woman struggling to stay on her feet and maintain her composure. Her body swelled, as did her limbs, bit by bit. They tore her jumpsuit to shreds, leaving it to hang in tatters from her neck, wrists, and ankles. They were bloated beyond any normal semblance, but not for long, as her growing midsection soon enveloped them.

He thought that would be the end of it, but she continued to throb, her growth slowing but not ending. Her hands and feet began to be pulled into indents on the sides of her, and the young woman's grunts began to be muffled as she sank into her own mass. Soon the skin around her navel began to turn an ominous shade of red, which spread as stretch marks formed across her surface. There was a sound like tearing rubber, and Nigel scrambled behind the stairwell just as there was a sickeningly loud, wet pop, viscera and gore splattering on the ground beside him.

Nigel went ashen-faced as he struggled to keep his lunch down, struggling with the knowledge that he just gruesomely condemned another human being to die. His knees buckled beneath him, he squeezed his eyes shut, and he fought down the urge to curl up into a little ball and disappear, knowing he still had to flee. He forced himself up on shaky feet, putting one hand against the brick wall and leaning out. He slowly opened his eyes, the nausea somehow intensifying as he saw a rooftop positively coated in gore.

...and Regina, sitting in the middle of it, naked but for a pair of track shoes and tattered strips of a blood-soaked jumpsuit.

She was staring into space, dazed, until she saw Nigel move out of cover. "That..." she breathed. "That was -amazing!-"

Nigel's jaw bobbed as he tried to form a coherent thought, now sick and confused beyond all measure.

"I've never experienced anything like that!" She stood, slipping on the gore a few times before getting to her feet and approaching Nigel with a rapturous expression. "My flesh actually changing as something roiled and bubbled from within! Being trapped in my own body, feeling it -stretch- and -distort!- And the end!" She put her arms around herself, shivering in remembrance as her expression practically melted. "I've been in explosions before, but they're all concussive. Nothing like that! Nothing like..." She gestured, overeager, searching for the right words. "...like being made so fragile before being torn apart by a force -inside of me!-" She noticed Nigel, and took his sleeve in a blood-flecked hand. "Do it again!"

"What?!"

"Do it again! Pop me! Burst me!"

"I..." The nausea was beginning to fade. Or perhaps he didn't notice it as much due to being so confused. "No!"

She shook his sleeve. "Come on! I'll let you go and when we meet we can do it again! Getting shot is so -boring-, but this is-"

"No, I-" He yanked his arm free, stumbling off in a daze. "I really need to turn myself in to the police now."

She stamped her foot, following after him. "Aw, come on! Get back here!"


	2. Summoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Male subject.

From the moment of his birth, Isaac knew nothing but privilege and wealth. Born into the prestigious von Bargen line, he grew up with a retinue of servants tending to his needs before he could even speak or walk. His youth was spent under the guidance of the finest tutors and scholars of the realm, educating him in stewardship, governance, and the natural sciences. There was little his parents could not provide, and when his father died of consumption he inherited his titles and lands, and with them the means to satisfy his needs. At least, for a while.

As time passed ennui gradually set in, and Isaac grew dissatisfied with mere worldly pursuits. His interests were sparked once more, however, by a chance encounter with an old and forgotten tome speaking of rituals and ancient spirits. He delved deep into the occult, gathering whatever books and artifacts he could, obscurity and confiscation by the church doing little to stop one with sufficient reach and coin. More and more of his time was spent in cloistered study, comparing and cross-referencing notes, translating incantations in long-forgotten languages, and learning ways to speak with forces not of this world.

A small, forgotten chapel beneath the castle proved a suitable - and ironic - location for Isaac to ply the fruits of his research. Candles were lit, incense was burned, and an intricate chalk circle was drawn upon the dais, ringed by salt. A goat, freshly killed, provided a suitable offering, and from the page in his hand he spoke the words to call forth power from beyond.

The chapel was filled with the howl of the storm, and the flesh and blood of the sacrifice was consumed in a sulfurous flame. The light from the candles was blotted out by a darkness that bordered on the physical, blinding Isaac. The sound of wind faded and the darkness lifted, revealing the fruits of his summoning.

She was nude, lithe and sharp-featured, standing confidently with one hand on her hip. Her skin was the tan of stone and sand, brown feathered wings extending from her back, long, loosely tangled brown hair framing her face. With a tilt of her head she looked at Isaac expectantly, sapphire eyes glittering in the light, before bowing deeply. "Focalor," she said; her voice was like red wine. "Great Dutchess of Hell. To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"Isaac von Bargen," he replied. "You are a murderous spirit, Focalor, and I have been wronged by many."

She inspected the nails of one hand. "Doubtless you would, as a king."

"I desire to see them taken care of."

"Naturally. So you summon a Dutchess of Hell to satisfy your grudges." Focalor sighed, turning her attention back to Isaac. "So what happened? Did a chef overcook your roast beef? Chambermaid refuse your advances?" Her lips spread in a toothy grin. "Your wife found another more handsome?"

"You think me that petty?" he snapped.

"Humans generally are. I suppose you'd like to justify mass executions without trial in a way that makes you out to be the victim. If not to me, then at least to yourself."

"Those who have wronged me are enemies of this country. Enemies of its people!"

Her expression softened, and after a moment of thought she nodded slowly. "You wish me to slay the enemies of this nation's people. I misjudged you; you clearly care for their well-being if you would go to such lengths for them."

"You understand."

"I do," Focalor replied, smiling. "So, is that the condition of our contract?"

"That you may strike down the foes of the citizens of this nation. By the seals of Solomon and the words of the contract, I, Isaac von Bargan, do bind Focalor to my service."

"It shall be done, my master; my winds and storms are yours. But," she gestured towards the ground, "I can do little within this circle of salt."

"Please, allow me." Isaac dragged the toe of one boot across the salt, breaking the circle, and Focalor visibly relaxed, as if a great weight were lifted from her shoulders.

"Thank you." She gestured, and the sound of wind filled the room a second before Isaac's stomach bulged, the lower buttons of his vest straining and popping.

He recoiled, pressing his hands against his midsection in shock. Whatever was inside him was weightless, shifting with pressure and, as more buttons broke free, continuing to fill him. "What is this? What are you doing?"

"Following our contract, of course." She smiled. "I normally prefer drowning, but certain other methods have their charm."

Isaac's vest burst open, belly sticking out a full foot in front of him as his pectorals grew fuller and rounder, his shirt pulled taut across him. "You betrayed me! We had a deal!"

"We did. That I would 'strike down the foes of the citizens of this nation.'"

His belt grew tight as his backside began to swell. "Yet you turn on -me!- Their king!"

"You live in changing times, your Highness." Reaching down Focalor undid his belt and, with a snap of her arm, pulled it free; unencumbered, his waist and hips billowed outward, his torso taking on a rounder shape. "Your people are learning what we discovered when your empires were little more than mud huts in the wilderness: That being forced into obedience by an absolute ruler is no life for them."

His mouth moved wordlessly as he continued to fill with air, legs of his pants and sleeves of his shirt beginning to grow snug. He awkwardly turned, legs spread to keep his thighs from bumping together, and waddled for the doorway to the stairs. Fumbling with the knob he pulled it open and pushed through, only to wedge himself firmly in the stone doorframe.

Focalor laughed. "Are you that eager to show off to your subjects?" She strode towards him, grabbing the back of his shirt collar and giving it a tug. He popped free, struggling to stay on his feet as she pulled him to the center of the room. With a push she spun him around, stopping him by resting both hands on the band of exposed flesh between the hem of his shirt and his beltline. "Sorry to say, but you're going to have to stay here with me."

"Stop this!" His limbs grew conical, the stitches in his sleeves and pants popping as his arms and legs thickened and stiffened. He tried to struggle, only managing to bend his arms partway. "I demand it!"

"'Demand.' Really." She gave him a gentle push, and he flailed as he tipped onto his backside. Her hands sank into his body as she leaned on him with both arms, leering. "It would appear that the ship of state is more a balloon."

The last bits of Isaac's clothing were torn apart, falling to the ground and leaving him nude in the chill air of the chapel. There was an overwhelming roundness to his body, soft curves where his pecs and backside were. As his limbs were absorbed into him, little more than fat stumps, the swelling spread to his neck, giving him a double chin. He was as wide as he was tall, utterly helpless, and still growing. "Please! I beg you!"

She pulled away, letting Isaac roll back to an upright position. "First demanding, then begging. Well, well. This is what you call 'carrot and the stick,' isn't it." She cupped her chin. "What could you possibly offer me? Wealth?"

He looked up as best as he could manage, seeing the ceiling grew closer before looking back down at Focalor over the curve of his chest. "Yes! All the wealth in my realm! Gold, artifacts, jewels, all of it yours!"

"Land?"

He could feel his growth begin to slow, a rising tension across his skin and an overwhelming pressure throughout his body. "I have a map! Just point to wherever you want and I'll give it to you!"

"Power?"

"You can be my queen!" Angry red stretch marks formed across his belly as a creaking began to be heard, at first barely audible, then gradually rising above the sound of the wind. "No, empress! I shall be your servant! Your slave!"

"Anything?"

"Yes!" He forced the words out through fattened lips and swollen cheeks. "Anything!"

Focalor nodded. "Very well. I want..." She took a step forward. "...you..." She touched her index finger to the bulge of his stomach, his body firm. "...to pop."

As he felt his skin begin to tear, Isaac realized that she would get her wish.

His body erupted, forced apart by the immense pressure inside of him. His flesh was rent asunder, blood and gore showering the chapel, snuffing candles and splattering across the walls. Focalor received the brunt of the cascade, her figure positively coated with ichor but his brutal, violent demise not even warranting a flinch from the demoness.

"Ah, yes," she sighed. With a shake of her arms and a flick of her wings the blood sloughed off of her, leaving her clean once more. "So fragile, yet so rewarding." She sauntered towards the door, stepping over Isaac's tattered clothes. "A new era is upon your people, your Highness. A pity you never had the chance to see it."


	3. Hive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Female subject.

For such a prolific and unusual lab "The Hive" seemed, if not ignored, then at least not treated with the attention it seemed to deserve. It stood in the territory known as Kaliningrad in the old world, changing hands three times in the span of ten years, all without incident. PEC didn't even realize it existed until they contacted them after their acquisition of the region, just long enough to establish a rudimentary business deal before going dark again, only communicating to send out molecular blueprints of new drugs and chemicals and feedback on PEC's new technologies that their own research divisions were absolutely certain weren't leaked. Requests for research documents pertaining to The Hive's former ownership by Uusi-Skandinavia and Sretensk Industries were met with silence. Likewise, strongly-worded demands were met with silence as well, and so it fell on Cooper to leave his office in New Brittany to visit it personally on the PEC's behalf.

The directions seemed incorrect at first, taking him to an abandoned factory complex built by a dead company. As he entered, however, a seemingly forgotten road sign lit up, the arrow on it pointing inward long enough for Cooper to get the hint and continue into one of the smaller warehouses. There the concrete floor had parted, revealing a platform elevator that descended to reveal a small security checkpoint. A ceiling-mounted gauss turret hung overhead, backed up by two figures in heavy armor, ballistic face masks, and rifles whose make and model didn't seem to match up with anything Cooper had ever seen. Between them was a powerfully-built woman who appeared to be in her early thirties with short cut hair, her features suggesting several nationalities but none in particular. She was dressed in a short-sleeved security uniform, bare arms revealing the telltale striations of vat-grown muscle, and she stood there silently watching him, waiting for him to speak.

"My name is Cooper." He offered a business card, which the security officer accepted without comment. "With the Pan-European Conglomerate." He waited for a reaction; he received none. "Your organization has refused all demands to turn over information pertaining to your previous employers and business dealings, and has sent me to investigate."

"I don't have employers." Her voice was raspy and forced, almost as if she were using it for the first time in ages.

"This area was controlled by both U-Skan and Sretensk. Are you claiming that you had no contact with either of them?"

"No. I did, but I didn't work for them. The Hive is non-profit."

"But you still have information from them."

"If you want data from Uss-" She looked briefly irritated at her inability to pronounce the word properly. "U and Set, take it up with them. I am not a middleman." The word was slowly enunciated; "mid-dul-man." "They did not ask for data on others."

Cooper was a bit taken aback by not only what she said, but how she said it. "Things are different with us, and if you'll pardon my bluntness, it's the sort of situation that can't be discussed with security. I hope you understand." Thinking quickly, he added, "but don't mistake this as a threat; there's nothing to be gained from fighting you." Or so he was told.

There was a moment of silence before the two guards parted, and the security officer stepped aside. "Go in," she said. "We can talk downstairs."

Cooper moved between them as they stood there mutely, the metal doors in front of him parting to reveal a small elevator. He entered, turning and waiting expectantly for the officer up until the doors closed again and the elevator silently and rapidly descended. As he thought about what he had just seen, the realization dawned on him that aside from the turret the room was utterly featureless, and none of them had radios.

*****

The trip down was one of growing discomfort over unknowns. He knew even less about this place than his superiors, and how much -they- knew was questionable at best. It was built deep, whatever it was, and had to have had no small amount of resources put into it if it was able to get into PEC's servers undetected. But if it wasn't connected to any of the Companies, then what was it?

The elevator eventually came to stop, opening up into a small, clean-looking room with polished concrete floors and metal paneled walls, an empty and archaic-looking receptionist's desk straight ahead. The figure sitting behind it gave Cooper pause: While she was wearing a jumpsuit and had a more natural build with longer hair, she was unmistakably the same individual as the officer above. Shaking it off, he exited the elevator, approaching her. "My name is-"

"Cooper," she said, her voice familiar yet clear, "with the Pan-European Conglomerate. I know, we spoke on the surface."

His mouth hung open, and he turned to look back at the closed doors behind him before staring at her dumbly.

"I'm Doctor Von Braun, the staff of The Hive." She made a sweeping gesture towards the desk. "This was an afterthought in design; you're the first person I needed it for." Standing, she motioned for him to follow, and they headed down a short hallway. "I'm not grown for speaking," Von Braun said, pushing the door open, "so I thought it would be more prudent to send you down to talk with me."

Cooper made an undignified, hesitant noise in his throat, and froze for the second time in as many minutes as he stepped into an intersection of wide, high hallways, windows revealing sprawling artificial biospheres. Heading down the hallways in either direction, moving crates on dollies, and taking notes, were Von Braun. Different clothes, perhaps, but her.

The Von Braun he had just spoken to simply walked off, another in a lab coat letting out a sigh as she went past. "Where to begin?" A few steps behind her a third approached, wearing a differently-colored jumpsuit and pushing a hand cart. She gestured with her head, turning down another hallway as Cooper hesitantly fell into step by her side. "The facility was originally conceived of as a research hub by several groups headed by the Feyerabend Foundation, independent of any nation or ideology and thus able to operate freely under the idea of epistemological anarchism."

"'Nation?'" Cooper asked. "How old is this place?"

"It became fully operational approximately ninety-five years ago."

"That predates the Mehen impact!"

"It does. In the chaos that ensued it was effectively forgotten, but fortunately it was more than self-sufficient. The original name wasn't 'The Hive,' of course, and there were other people down here besides me once." She stopped beside a stack of boxes with two others in the same clothing; Cooper heard hurried footsteps behind him and he turned to see yet another in sterile clothing removing a full-face gasmask come up to his side. "Mistakes were made, and I was the only survivor."

Cooper was suddenly keenly aware of the air he was breathing. "What kind of mistakes?"

"Ones which ran their course. Fortunately I was able to salvage the place, and there was more than enough down here for me to continue what I could and take some of my former peers' work in a different direction."

"I see." He composed himself, remembering why he was there. "But with regards to Sretensk-"

"You're not getting any of their information from me." A nearby door slid open and Von Braun turned and went through. Cooper thought that was the end of it until another exited, shrugging her lab coat on as she approached. "I'm only in it for the pure act of discovery and creation, and your laws on human bioengineering are still oppressively restrictive. Whatever happens to you on the surface isn't my department."

"There must be something PEC can offer you."

She shook her head, stopping beside an opaque window and pressing a button, causing the glass to fade to transparency and reveal a bare room with an odd device no more than three feet tall in the center. Turning to look into it, she said, "I either have or can make anything I want or need."

"Certainly not anything. As you said, it's been ninety..." He trailed off as one of the walls of the room opened, three more Von Brauns entering. Two were dressed normally - or as what could pass as normal here - but the third was in a thin robe, which the other two gently helped her remove as she approached the device. "What are they doing?"

Von Braun held up a hand, eyes focused on the room. "Don't interrupt me."

The woman's figure was sculpted - there was no other word for it, no other way to imply that it had been shaped through the deliberate efforts of another. As she neared the device it became evident that it was a saddle of sorts, two cylindrical protrusions coming up from the seat in equally deliberate design. With a barely-contained eagerness she approached, swinging one leg over it and positioning over them before descending. As they slid into her she trembled, and Von Braun shuddered in kind. As the wall closed the woman's back arched, and her belly suddenly filled out into a low curve. Gripping the saddle with one hand she pressed the fingertips of the other against her skin, tracing small circles before she grew again, appearing for all the world as if she were in the middle stages of pregnancy.

"It's remarkable," Von Braun breathed.

Cooper stared, uncomprehending, as the woman swelled slowly and steadily. Her figure advanced into the scale of pregnancy, then well beyond, a bobbing globe hanging off the front of her frame. As more of her figure grew out of range of her free hand she moved it to the side of the saddle, grinding slowly against it in time to her growth.

"The bombardment of endorphins, the tension..."

The give of the woman's flesh was inhuman as it eclipsed more of her body, obscuring her breasts and thighs, then spanning her shoulders and knees. As it surged out again her navel quietly inverted, popping out in a bump on the surface of her belly as it gently wobbled and shook. There was an almost deafening silence in the facility, and though the woman's head was tipped back and growing more obscured by the moment, her reaction was mirrored by Von Braun, a hazy, distracted look in her eyes as her attention was fixated on herself.

"The fullness..."

Her body was more stomach than person by this point, the growth beginning to taper off. Cooper thought - or hoped - that would be the end of it, until he saw faint stretch marks begin to form and spread across her front hemisphere. Her body quivered as it reached capacity, forced to hold what it could not manage, the lines growing larger and redder by the second. As the woman's gut throbbed and claret seams began to run across it, Von Braun pressed a shaking hand against the glass.

"The sense of anticipation and uncertainty, until..."

Cooper tore himself away, squeezing his eyes shut. The room was soundproofed, but not enough to mute the cry of ecstasy that suddenly cut short, conceal the wet, muted pop that followed, or cover up the quiet splatter of something wet and thick hitting the glass. As he opened them again he saw Von Braun, leaning against the glass with a weary yet satisfied expression.

"That was my largest yet," she panted. Straightening up she asked, "now, where were we?"

*****

Following their investigation of the facility known as "The Hive," the Pan-European Conglomerate concluded that it was not an active threat, and that it should be left to its autonomy. However, all records of its location were removed from the PEC's databases, the information restricted to the chief executives and department heads, and all were warned to never initiate contact.


End file.
